


A Small Bump.

by halelujah



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Always Female Stiles Stilinski, Angst, BAMF Allison, BAMF Lydia Martin, BAMF Stiles, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, F/F, F/M, Fingerfucking, Fuckbuddies, Good Peter Hale, Panic Attacks, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, Teen Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, no need to panic, the Stiles/ OFC is minor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-20 11:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3648693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halelujah/pseuds/halelujah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer fling; <i>A sexual adventure free of hassles, commitments or drama, timed for the summer only. Something light and fun-filled with nothing to worry about at the end of the season.</i></p><p>Psh, free of hassles and drama. When has Stiles' life ever been that simple?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, there's two reasons as to why I'm posting this fic. One, I have no room on my iPod that I do most of my writing on and I need the space. Two, this is the only place I'm comfortable posting this fic here where family members cant' get a glimpse of what I'm writing, so yeah.
> 
>  **WARNING:** there will be panic attacks in this fic, so please tread lightly if you're easily triggered. Your health is so much more important than reading fics, okay boos? Tags will probably change as well as the rating as this continues. This isn't so much as a warning but more a heads up. I've made Peter a little more nicer in this fic. Why? Because I like the sounds of a Stiles and Peter bromance.
> 
> This fic is also a trail run in my writing fem!stiles and somewhat smutty fics, so let's see how I go, yeah? 
> 
> Title from Ed Sheeran's Small Bump. 
> 
> ily. You're all beautiful. Enjoy.

It wasn't like Stiles was unaware of what she was getting into when she and Derek fell into bed together the summer after the Alpha Pack. She wasn't thinking that maybe, just maybe, they'd have a romance with heartfelt angst and love confessions, screaming matches that ended up with hard kisses, tight grips and tears like in the movies. 

No, she had more sense than that and her reality wasn't a cliché movie. Even if she were delusional, she and Derek weren't Nicolas Sparks' worthy, they were actually quite the opposite. A collision of jagged edges and broken pieces that would eventually end up cutting the other soon before they'd fit together harmoniously. 

Derek was antisocial with trust issues and the urge to be the martyr a mile long in width and distance, - despite getting better over the two years of knowing him - and though he might have the capability to love, she wasn't naive into thinking that it would be her he'd fall in love with. And Stiles was just a hyperactive teenage girl that lived an ambiguous life between doing what was right for others and being just plain selfish. She didn't have a filter like most people, tended to fight with words and succeeded most of the time with their sharp barbs, and always went for the weak spots and not particularly caring in who she hurt. 

But she digresses. It was just supposed to be a summer fling. It was just supposed to be mind blowing, earth shattering, toe curling sex.

And that's where the hassles and drama came in. The plastic little device from the seven levels of hell, currently sitting on her bathroom counter to be precise. 

Stiles ran a hand through her hair, huffing irritably at how the strands fell back into place, bangs just brushing over her eyebrows and framing her cheeks. That's the last time Lydia ever cuts her hair, damn it. 

"Ten minutes it says, wait ten minutes." She murmured, sitting on the toilet, lid down and cold against her bare thighs. She glanced at her phone held tightly in her hand, the other still buried in her hair, fingers clenched. "Then why the fuck hasn't my alarm --"

The shrill of said alarm jolts her in surprise, making her slide a little on her seat, rucking Scott's henley she wore further up her legs. 

She took in a shaky breathe. Stiles would give her left arm for a distraction right about now, to keep her from this very moment. A meteor hitting Earth. The sudden discovery that animals could talk. Derek slipping into her room and -- yeah, she didn't need that particular one happening, thank you very much. It's probably what led up to this whole clusterfuck of a situation in the first place. 

Standing on wobbly legs, she swallowed before moving across the bathroom that seemed far too small for her liking. Taking another deep breathe in, Stiles grabbed the instructions again, looking at the diagram while worrying at her bottom lip. 

Two lines equals; congrats, you've got a bun in the oven! One line equals; whew, that was close!

She shrugged. Seems easy enough. 

Glancing down at the two lines glaring back up at her, she couldn't help but feel like life was punishing her for laughing at Scott fall down the stairs the other day. 

Scott, a werewolf now and still managed to fall down the stairs? She did what any person would have done. She laughed. And hard. 

Now, she's regretting it. Maybe she should have seen if he was okay, called for help, cry to the heavens to spare him. 

"Fuck." She whispered, feeling her ribs tighten around her lungs. She was going to cry right now. "Fuck."

~

"Stiles, what are you doing here?" Melissa asked, surprise crossing her features. 

"Um, I was wondering if I could, you know, talk to you?" She replied, glancing around the busy hospital, just so she could avoid the scrutinising look she was receiving. "In private?"

"Oh God, what bones did you and Scott break now?" 

Feeling slightly better at the sudden normalcy of the situation, Stiles raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for Melissa to come to the conclusion herself. She clearly made it, when the older woman rolled her eyes in an oddly familiar way Scott would, and muttered 'werewolf healing, right,' under her breathe. 

"Come on, I think we can find a spare room to use," she offered, stepping out from behind the desk. "What's this about? Is it - " she leant in close to whisper, eyes darting around the crowded corridor, "Werewolf related?"

Swallowing, she shook her head and tried to rid the lump that had lodged itself in her throat the second she had calculated her period was a few weeks late. At first, she had thought it was because of stress from school and anything supernatural related, but it might obviously not be the case anymore. "No, it's more - womanly functions related."

Melissa stopped walking, face carefully blank and Stiles slammed her eyes shut from the expression, chest beginning to heave from her shallow breathing. 

Fingers wrapped themselves around her elbow and tugged gently, the sounds of a door opening and closing behind her. She was led forward, turned, before two hands pressed down on her shoulders, her body automatically following the silent instruction and sitting in a hard, plastic chair.

"Stiles, honey." Melissa whispered, the same hands cupping her cheeks and making her eyes snap open. "I need you to take a few deep breathes in, okay? Count each one out for me."

Stiles hadn't realised she was on the verge of an episode, the sounds of her pulse roaring in her ears, teeth clacking audibly and making her jaw ache. 

"Take a deep breathe in and count them for me." She repeated. 

Fisting her hands tightly and nails biting into the skin of her palms, she obeyed, voice scratchy and low when she gasped out, "One."

"Good girl," Melissa encouraged. "Again."

Another inhale. "Tu-two."

"Once more."

"Three."

Stiles had gotten to the count of fifteen before her chest felt loose again, her eyes clearing and her throat feeling sandpaper dry. She accepted the cup of water placed into her hand, taking a hefty gulp before pressing it to her blotchy cheeks. 

It was silent between them for awhile, the sounds of various beeps, doctors and nurses chatting outside the room echoing in her ears. 

"Stiles," Melissa started, still crouched before her. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"I took four different tests, but -" She shook her head, tears beginning to slide down her face. "I didn't know who else to go to or what to do."

"Hey, hey." The older woman soothed, sliding into the seat beside her and wrapping gentle arms around her. "You know you can come to me with anything, Stiles. You know that."

An ache settled heavily in her stomach as she buried deeper into the embrace, everything finally hitting home. She wished it was her own mother pressing kisses to her forehead, whispering that everything was going to be alright, a hand running through her hair. 

Not that the woman beside her wasn't the closest thing to a mother figure Stiles had, because Melissa was, _is_. She'd been there to pick them up when they hit rock bottom, not walking around on eggshells like everyone else did. She treated them exactly the same, scowling Stiles whenever she stuffed a pop tart into her mouth with no fine finesse, or joining her in demanding that the Sheriff eat more healthily. She looked after them in their time of grief, held their hands when it got unbearable. 

"What am I gonna tell Dad?" She whispered, voice cracking. 

"It's alright, baby," she murmured, rocking them to and fro. "We'll figure something out. Together, I promise."

Having her around didn't fill the void of having her mother gone, but it did soothe the jagged pieces of her broken heart. And right now, Stiles has never been more thankful for God's gift that just happened to be Melissa McCall. 

~

After speaking to Melissa yesterday, taking a blood test and waiting around for a few hours, it has been confirmed that she is indeed pregnant.

Just what the fuck was she going to do?

She knew she wasn't going to abort, even though that was an option. Stiles had nothing against women who chose to abort, but she just couldn't see herself personally doing that. So. The only other options left were adoption or keeping the baby. 

Either way, she still had to have the baby for one of the two options. 

Leaning against the cool metal of her locker, Stiles let out a shaky breathe, arm unconsciously wrapping itself around her stomach. Pregnant at the tender age of seventeen. Beautiful. 

"Dude, what's wrong with you?"

Stiles jumped, narrowly missing Scott's face with an elbow and kick to the ribs. 

"You have seriously got to cut that shit out," she snapped, moving to slouch against her locker again, willing her heart rate to return back to normal. She glared when given a shit eating grin. "Keep it up Balto and we'll see who's laughing when someone falls down the stairs again."

"You _pushed_ me down the stairs."

She flapped her hand at him, though a grin began to play on her face. "Semantics."

Scott rolled his eyes but wrapped an arm around her shoulders in silent apology. "And you need to stop changing the subject. You've been quiet all day, what's wrong?"

Contrary to popular belief, Scott wasn't stupid. He just liked to observe people and his surroundings closely, getting so caught up in it that he'd lose focus on the situation at hand. Which, seemed to increase now what with his monthly furry problems and super wolfy senses. 

Don't get her wrong though, there has been many a time where she's questioned how her best friend has survived this far in life, but we all have our moments, right?

And hers just happened to be getting knocked up by Derek-eyebrows-of-doom-Hale. 

Sighing, she tucked herself more comfortably against his side, nose brushing against his collarbone. Stiles debated on telling him her little secret, but thought against it when hearing the class bell go off. School was in no place to tell your best friend that you were pregnant, the father of the baby five years her senior, is a werewolf and happened to be an Alpha that he may have just started to like. 

Oh, her life ladies and gentlemen. It sounded so _Twilight_. 

"Just having one of those days." She opted instead, mind twisting around the idea to tell him at her house later. 

She smiled when he pulled her into a massive bear hug, chin resting comfortably on her head and arms wrapped tightly around her waist. "Better?"

Taking in a deep breathe in, Scott's subtle scent assaulting her senses, she nodded and buried her way further into his chest, feeling the tension in her shoulder blades slowly disappear. What was with the McCalls and giving awesome hugs? 

"Yeah, thanks buddy."

"Come on, we better get going or else Harris is gonna chew your ass out if we're late."

"I hate the fact that if we're late, I'm the one he attacks." Stiles grumbled, following after Scott where he took off to snag a seat by Isaac. "It's like he's pulling my metaphorical pigtails." She made a face at her words. "And that is not something I need to think about right now."

"Talking to yourself again?" 

Snapping her head to the left, she was met with Lydia, eyebrows raised and lips pursed. 

"What can I say?" She asked, laughing slightly. "I have intelligent conversations when I do. Ten times more interesting than with other people."

Lydia rolled her eyes with a flick of her head, red curls tumbling over her shoulder. "If I didn't think you were weird before, I certainly do now."

Stiles smiled cheekily, hand clutching at her chest. "You think about me, Lyds? Be still my beating heart."

She received an unlady-like snort and an arm slipping easily between the crook of her elbow. She let Lydia lead her passed a glaring Harris and to a desk at the back of the class. "Don't get too excited now. I was just thinking that we might need another clothes intervention."

Stiles squinted her eyes at the board. "You go anywhere near my new plaid shirts, and I'll tell the entire school I saw you at the hair salon dying your grey hairs."

Isaac and Scott choked on a laugh from the desk in front of them, their shoulders hunched by their ears and shaking.

"Mature, Stiles. Real mature." Lydia huffed, mouth twisted into a pout, but nonetheless accepting defeat. 

She just grinned. 

~

"We've got a problem," Derek spoke as she stepped into the loft, the Pack trailing in behind her. 

Stiles had a moment to panic, eyes wide and heart hammering in her chest, only to realise that he wasn't talking directly to her, but to everyone as a whole. 

Oh right, right. She knew that. 

"What's wrong now?" Allison asked, exasperated, sitting down on the couch. 

Derek threw her a weird look, most likely at her stumbling heartbeat but answered the Huntress, "Another Pack is coming here to Beacon Hills. Their Alpha was an ally with my mother. She wants to continue that alliance."

"But what do we have to offer?" Lydia questioned, frowning. She walked over and plopped onto the beanbag she'd bought for the loft, legs daintily crossed and skirt fanning over her thighs. "We're only a Pack of eight."

Derek nodded at her, smiling proudly. Stiles could tell the banshee fought against the urge to preen. "That may be true, but we can offer sanctuary to any of her wolves. We also have a territory that's majority of forest lands that can be used. Technically speaking, they do get the better deal but we get numbers, and numbers mean a stronger Pack."

"When will they get here?" Isaac asked, moving further into the loft, Cora following closely behind. "And what's the problem with them being in Beacon Hills?"

"Three weeks," Peter replied from his perch on the bottom two steps on the staircase. "Reason why they're a problem is that they don't like humans. Traditionalists really, have been for generations. Think they're only on this planet to serve werewolves."

"You had humans in your Pack, though." Stiles says, walking over to him and placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Wouldn't that have been difficult to have an alliance with them in the first place?"

Despite the obvious tick to his jaw, he accepted the peck, pulling her to sit down by his side and throwing a casual arm around her shoulders. 

At first when Peter had begun to treat everyone more like Pack, it unnerved her, made her skin itch with the need to find out what exactly he was hiding or planning to do. But when she had confronted him one night of the full moon in the Reserve, - not one of her best ideas, she'll openly admit - accused him of trying to kill Derek so he could become the Alpha again, the absolute heartbreaking look on his face made her pause. 

"I know what I did was wrong, Stiles. I'm not going to justify what I did to my niece, to Derek. To Scott, you and Allison. Lydia. Especially Lydia." He had murmured, facing the creek before him. "It's inexcusable, but I wasn't in the right state of mind. The fire, _Kate_ , literally burned my humanity out of me and when Derek slashed my throat, I got it back. By that stage it was too little too late."

"I don't believe you." She had replied. "You have a way with words, Peter. You twist them until you're in someone's mind, until you get what you want."

The older werewolf let out a humourless chuckle, sent her a sad smile before unceremoniously dropping to the forest floor, legs tucked under him. "You sound just like Maria. She always used to get pissed when I went overprotective father on her."

Cautiously, Stiles moved to sit beside him. "You had a daughter?"

A nod. "She had my snark, her mother's beauty and her Aunty Talia's stubbornness. Could never win an argument with her, used to talk circles around me. Kinda like you." He bumped her shoulder gently, a hopeless grin playing on his lips.

Stiles had smiled in return and ended up listening to Peter that night, asking him questions about the Hale family. What they used to do every full moon and what was Derek like as a child, cackling when she was told that their mighty Alpha had gotten into Laura's pads one Christmas, and worn one across his forehead before claiming loudly to the entire family, he was a nurse. She ended up falling asleep before light, the ultimate test of trusting Peter with her guard down. 

She woke up on the couch in the loft, one of Isaac's blankets over her, a pillow that smelt of Derek's and a note taped to the coffee table, thanking her for staying with him on the full moon. When no one else would. 

Her heart broke a little. She always sided with the misunderstood and broken ones. It probably explained her love for Scar from _The Lion King_ , when the majority of the world hated him for killing Mufasa. 

It was friendship after that moment on, something that baffled Derek and annoyed Scott and Lydia, but they dealt with it in their own ways after Peter apologised. Whether it was threatening throat ripping by Scott and Derek or a very suggestive banana slicing from Lydia, the Pack moved on as a whole. 

Don't get get her wrong though, Stiles knows that the older werewolf can still go somewhat psychotic and murderous, the reason behind that knowledge being, she's seen him do it. Only difference is it's just now only towards people that harm the Pack in any shape or form. She's kinda proud of him. 

"Talia wasn't going to back down from having someone else tell her, she couldn't have the human members of our Pack there." Peter explains, bringing Stiles out of her memories. "Zach, the Alpha then, had no choice but to accept them if he wanted an alliance. But from what I remember, he was lenient and fair. Even engaged in a few conversations with a few of Derek's older human cousins."

"How do we know that the Alpha now, is any lenient like Zach?" Scott asked, collapsing on the couch beside Allison, reaching over to take a gulp from Cora's soda, and ignoring her halfhearted growl thrown in his direction. 

"Evelyn is Zach's daughter." Derek answers, using the back of the TV guide to slap Scott upside the head. "She's taken over and has for some time. To answer the question though, let's hope she is."

Stiles stifled a snort as her best friend rubs the abused area with a glare. "Does she know about us?"

Derek glances at her. "Yes." 

"But just in case of the likely situation of them not approving, you'll be upping the training sessions." Lydia summaries, lips pursed and arms folded across her chest. 

"Correct as always." Peter chuckles, earning him a smirk from the red head. 

"Well, I'm sure my father can take over my, Stiles and Lydia's training again," Allison offers, eyes darting over to them to confirm their permission. They both nod. "Will we still continue with Peter?"

Derek nods his head. "I want you three with Peter and I on Mondays and with Chris on Fridays. Just because the Slater Pack are aware of you, doesn't mean some of her Pack won't instigate anything."

"What happens if they do?" Cora questions, suddenly tense. Isaac unconsciously copies her. 

"Kick their asses six ways to Sunday." Scott shrugs, like it's an easy thing to do.

"Well if they underestimate you, then it is." Peter replies, and she realises then, she said that out loud. 

"Cool, so we don't have to do much." Isaac says, leaning back against the couch with a smirk. 

"Actually, I'll be taking over the training with the wolves too," the oldest werewolf grins, eyes flashing. "You're mine, Lahey."

Stiles laughs at the whine coming from the couch.

"Is there anything else?" Scott asks, glancing around while his hand slowly inches towards the game controller by Allison's knee. 

Stiles stills, arm consciously winding around her midsection as she debates with herself. 

No one really knew about them sleeping together, both of Derek and Stiles going out of the way to make sure they never smelt like sex and one another outside of usual scent marking. So, it'd be kind of wrong to pull the carpet from right under the Pack, yeah?

"No, but I do need to talk to you," she says finally, looking over at Derek. 

Which happened to be their code for, "I need you to fuck me through the mattress, five seconds ago." 

Not now though. She really did need to talk to him. 

Derek merely nodded. 

 

~

Derek leant down to press a kiss to her lips and momentarily forgetting the situation, Stiles leant into it, letting out an appreciative hum when teeth nipped at her bottom lip. 

When rough fingertips traced up her thigh before slowly tugging on the zipper of her shorts, she pulled away as if she'd been burned. "Stop, stop."

He leant back, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What? What's wrong?"

"I don't think we should do this anymore." She whispered, moving back from his chest, fighting against the urge to wrap herself back up in his arms. 

"You're saying no?" He questioned, eyebrows sliding up towards his hairline. He didn't sound accusing, just curious. 

Stiles swallowed, but kept her resolve. "It's not a good idea anymore. " 

She didn't meet his gaze at first, but chances a look when there's no reply. 

"What are we?" She blurted out suddenly, equal parts of her own curiosity and the need to fill the silence. 

Watching his face go blank wasn't exactly the answer she was trying to find though. 

"If you're looking for a relationship, you're not gonna get one with me."

Well, thank you for sparing my heart, you fucking jerk, Stiles thinks hotly. She says out loud, "I'm not looking for one, I just -"

"I think you're right," Derek interrupts, spinning her around and towards the front door. "We shouldn't be doing this if you're gonna start getting feelings."

Scowling, she bats his hands away from her shoulders, "I'm not getting feelings, you dick. I'm trying to tell you some -"

"Out." Pushing her bag into her hands, there's a not so gentle shove out the door. "Get out."

"Would you just listen to me!"  
Stiles snaps, hand darting out to catch the door from closing in her face. She knows he won't slam it on her, not unless he wants Scott, Peter _and_ Lydia out for his throat. "I'm trying to tell you something."

"You've got five seconds."

Mouth going dry, Stiles tries to push the urge to throw up away. She can't not tell him, he's the father. He deserves to know. She licked her lips and went to speak --

"Time's up." 

Her hand is pushed away and the door is closed with a final thud.

 

~

 

Stiles is panicking. There was no doubt about it. 

She had stolen Scott's phone and left a note inside of his pocket saying, _you want it back, come to my house an hour after the Pack meeting_. 

Hey, he might be a werewolf with the claws, super strength and reflexes, but if Stiles Stilinski wanted something, she got it. Well, with the exception of Lydia, but that was a whole different situation all together. 

Over the course of the meeting, she had come to the conclusion that she was going to tell people, well, people being the ones that needed to know the most. 

Derek, her father and Scott. Then the Pack. 

With the way the first one went down, Stiles was on the verge of hyperventilating.

She couldn't really tell from fear or something else. Oh, Stiles knew that anger was mixed in there, no doubt about that either. It had taken all of her not to kick at his door and scream, _I'm pregnant and it's yours, you fucker_ so loudly that his neighbours heard. But she was a lady, she didn't do shit like that. 

Okay, so maybe she punched the door instead, but at least she didn't scream, don't judge her. 

"Stiles?"

Whipping around, she spotted Scott sitting on her windowsill, looking amused as she paced back and forth.

"Heeeeey, buddy." She greeted, wincing then at how suspicious it sounded. Subtle is not thy name. 

Clearly she wasn't the only one to agree. With eyes narrowed, Scott asked. "What did you do?"

Choking on a laugh, she swallowed the urge to say, _don't you mean who?_

Giving herself something to do, she grabbed his phone from her desk before making her way over, holding it out to him like some type of peace offering. 

He accepted, placed the phone by his thigh on the sill and cupped her face gently to pull her gaze up. "What happened? Did Derek do something after the meeting?"

Bless loveable Scott, truly. 

When she didn't say anything, the werewolf before Stiles shook her chin softly. "Hey, come on. Talk to me."

Tears began to slide down her cheeks and her breathing rattled in her chest. Just say it, she thought to herself. Just say it.

"I'm pregnant and it's Derek's."

There was silence but nothing else. No growls, no eye flashes, nothing until Scott grabbed his phone and said, "I need to talk to Allison."

Mouth dropping open and mind careening to a stop, Stiles wonders briefly if she's heard right. Like, did she just confess that she got pregnant by their Alpha and the only thing on his mind is his _girlfriend_?

All the times that he had ignored her, ditched her all for Allison, she had kept quiet. Only for the fact that this was Scott's first everything and that if it were her in his place, she'd probably act like a thick, puppy-love struck dumbass too. But the one time, _the one time_ , where she needed her best friend to be there for her, he's too busy to keep his mind on the situation at hand. She venomously hopes his dick falls off. 

Shock quickly evaporating to white hot anger, Stiles draws back to punch Scott in the balls, just barely catching the end of his conversation on the phone. 

"-- coming over. Yeah, Stiles needs me for a family emergency, so I'm cancelling. No. No, don't come over. Just needs to be us."

When he hangs up, she watches him switch the phone off before tossing it to the side and pulling her to his chest, arms wrapped around her shoulders tightly. 

Oh. 

He cancelled on Allison. 

_Oh_. 

She takes back everything she's said. Especially the dick part. That shouldn't be a thing to happen for Scott's sake. 

Tucking her nose under his chin and clutching at his waist, Stiles tries not to bawl. "What, no threats to anyone's person? No graphic details of how one's throat is going to be ripped open?"

"Don't worry, I've got some ideas." Scott answers darkly, and is that - yep, there's the growl she was looking for. 

"Don't be too mad, I was very willing with how everything conspired." She swallows and glances away. "Derek doesn't know. I tried to tell him after the meeting, but he didn't let me get a word in. He thought I was going to tell him I had feelings for him."

"And -- and do you?" He questioned, carefully. 

"I don't know. I mean, I don't love him or anything, but I'd be upset if he died." She replied, shaking her head and jostling his chin resting on top of it. 

"Are you gonna try and tell him again?"

Stiles shrugs and takes a shuddering breathe in. "I will, but I wanna tell Dad first before going back there. He - he's gonna be so disappointed."

Scott tightens his grip around her and places a gentle kiss to her temple, a soothing rumble echoing in his chest. "He will, but he's still gonna love you, no matter what."

She's glad that he doesn't try to tell her otherwise, doesn't give her false securities that her father was going to be fine and dandy about her getting pregnant while in high school. "Can you stay?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

Stiles finally lets herself cry. 

~

She knows her father knows something is up. The last time her and Scott ambushed the Sheriff like this, with dinner on the table and the house so clean it was on the verge of being brand new on the market, they told him of their little accident concerning Mr. Roberts kitchen window and Stiles' rocket launcher she wasn't supposed to have. 

"God, what did you two do this time?" He asks, looking exasperated, jacket yet to be pulled off completely, like he was getting ready to go make an official apology to whoever they'd managed to offend. 

It's actually happened more than once if she were to be honest. 

"It says something about our lives that that's the first thing our parents ask, when they see us unexpectedly." She mused, glancing at her best friend with a grin that matched his. 

Her father raises an eyebrow, points a finger at Stiles before waggling it between Scott and her. "So, there's no reason as to why you're both here looking like a sinner in church?"

Well. When you put it like that. 

Smile disappearing from her face, she feels Scott come up beside her, hand slipping effortlessly into hers. "I think you should sit down, Dad. There's something you should know."

It's silent after she tells him, inside and outside of the house. It's almost like the world itself is waiting for a reaction from her father, who sits there, face blank and lips pressed thinly. 

Nerves frazzled, she reaches out to touch her father's hand, a sob hiccuping out of her throat when he pulls away as if her touch is acidic. 

Scott shifts closer as he whines lowly by her side, the only sound he's made since Stiles began talking. 

"Dad? Dad, I'm so sorr-"

"I think you should stay at the McCalls, for awhile." The Sheriff interrupts, standing up. "You should go."

"But, I -"

"I said leave, Stiles!" He snaps, fist slamming down hard on the table. 

She flinches away, head downcast as Scott quickly tugs her to her feet, places himself between father and daughter as he leads them to the front door. 

"Come on," her best friend urges, when she stops at the porch steps, head turned to glance back into the house. "We'll give him time to calm down and think things through."

It's like she's on autopilot, she feels empty as she's put in the passenger side of Scott's car, his hair brushing against her nose as he buckles her seat belt in.

The only thing she can remotely feel is her best friend's warm hand in hers, fingers clasped together and because she's a masochist, she tries to tug hers away, only to stop when the grip tightens almost painfully. 

"I told you I'm not going anywhere and I meant it, Stiles. I'd say your first name for a more dramatic effect, but since I'll only butcher said name and ruin the declaration, this is what you're gonna get instead." Scott says, holding their linked hands up. He smiles gently. "Got it?"

Closing her eyes and leaning her head against the window, she nods. At least one out of three hasn't kicked her out of their homes. 

She's not proud to admit her agreement with the voice that whispers _yet_.


	2. Chapter Two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's reconciliation, secrets told and a puppy named Cinnamon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG CHAPTER GUYS. I tried to cut it, but it just didn't sit well with me so. Here you go. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Let's be friends](http://the-calvaree.tumblr.com<a)

Melissa McCall is furious. She's sure that if she could, she'd be foaming at the mouth and growling, that's how furious she is. 

After all the stupid shit that they had gotten up to as kids, this was probably the most stupid thing John has done, to date. She tried to ignore the fact that history was repeating itself, what with their children being the troublemakers they had been - despite the age difference - and Stiles' pregnancy a reflection of her own. There was one more thing that happened with Melissa that she'd be damned to allow Stiles go through, not when she was in a position to stop it. 

Pulling into the driveway, she grabs her bat and all but runs up the porch steps, doesn't even bother ringing the bell but opts to pound both her fist and bat against the door instead. 

She hears a voice holler out, doesn't care to listen to exactly what said voice says, just continues to bang against wood and make noise. 

A disheveled looking man opens the door, hair sticking up this way and that, obvious signs of fingers combing through the strands with stress. "Jesus, what's going on -"

"You have some fucking nerve, Johnathan Boryslaw Stilinski!" She snaps, in lieu of answering, bat held firmly in her grip and tip jammed into his chest. 

The Sheriff blinks, eyes wide and mouth agape in surprise, equal parts to the full name use, bat waving and her swearing. He splutters, even more so when she pushes her way through the door and into the house. 

"Melissa? What're you doing?"

Her eyes narrow further. She points in his direction with the bat again, "Mind telling me why _your_ daughter cried herself to sleep in _my_ son's bed ten minutes ago?"

There's a flash of something that passes over John's face and she knows that look, has seen it before when Claudia passed away; utter heartbreak. 

Good, she can't help but think bitterly. That should hurt. 

"She's, she's pregnant Mel. At seventeen!"

"I'm aware of her age, John." She can't help but retort, with a roll of her eyes. "I can in fact count."

"Stiles threw her life away!" He snaps, throwing his hands up and glaring at her. "She's just put herself in that large percentage of teenagers that fuck up - "

"I'd like to think that I've done pretty alright for being apart of said percentage." She interrupts, coolly. 

"That's not what I meant," he says weakly, wincing. 

"Then pray tell, what is it you mean?"

He sighs, runs a shaky hand across his face and allows his shoulders to slump. "I only just got used to the idea of werewolves and faeries, witches and trolls. I've come to terms with being abducted and readied for sacrifice, by a thing that happened to teach English. Now I have a, a grandchild on the way? This was the one thing I knew, I never had to worry about when it came to her, because she's smart. But this whole life Stiles has for herself is madness!"

"And yet, you'd think having a baby would be less worrisome than watching your daughter go off in the middle of the night, only to return with a fractured elbow and her side clawed open."

John flinches and she knows his mind must be replaying the heart stopping moment, where they both watched Peter stumble into the kitchen with Stiles cradled to his chest, and her blood smeared over their clothes. That had happened when the Alpha Pack finally attacked head on, instead of their strategic blows they used beforehand. It had been a bloody mess. Melissa and John nearly lost their kids that night, almost had to bury them with Erica and Boyd. That had been a special hell on it's own, standing by two sets of parents as some stranger lowered their child into the ground.

And sure, John had a point. The life Stiles and Scott were living _was madness_ , but no one had _asked_ if they wanted it, this supernatural business was quite literally injected into their lives, - hers and John's as well - when Peter Hale sank his teeth into her son's side.

Melissa watches him collapse on the couch, head held in his hands. She takes a look around, sees there's half a bottle of Whiskey and one glass sitting beside the couch and just knows, that he's been sitting there for the passed three hours in a dark house, drinking. 

Sighing, she moves over to the front door, pausing to turn around and say, "Stiles is hurting right now, John. She's scared. And you just pushed her away when she needs you the most. You _know_ what happened between my father and I, when I told him I was going to have Scott. _You were there_. Don't let it turn out like that, you're all you two have left."

~

"If you don't eat it, I will and you'll live to regret it." Scott threatens, fork hovering over her plate. 

Instinctively, Stiles pulls her pancakes to her chest, eyes narrowed. "You go anywhere near them and I'll castrate you."

He grins around a mouthful of toast, "Then you'll have to face Allison. She won't like that at all."

"Please don't tell me you're talking about sex at eight in the morning." Melissa scowls, slapping both of them upside the head. She points at them with a butter knife, eyes narrowed. "Eat your food."

Sheepishly they obey, Scott poking his tongue out at her when she kicks him under the table. They both ignore the muttered, "five year olds" thrown in their direction. 

At first, Stiles hadn't wanted to get up for breakfast like they did every Saturday morning, - her father being the exception over the years since her mother died and him becoming Sheriff - she just wanted to roll back over and hide under Scott's blankets with her head buried under a pillow. 

Melissa had come in when Scott gave up trying to extract her from the mattress, slipped effortlessly into bed by her side, and cradled Stiles in her arms, pillow and all. "Hiding away in bed isn't going to change anything, hon."

Stiles had turned, head peeking out from under the pillow, "Did you want to hide away? From your parents? From everyone?"

It wasn't really said, but she knew Melissa and Scott's birthdays, so it wasn't all that hard to figure out that he had been born while she was in high school too. Though, Stiles figured her story wasn't that bad since Melissa was eighteen and a senior, but whatever. Semantics. 

Brushing an errant curl from out of Stiles' eyes, Melissa nodded, smile soft at the edges. "Of course I did, but I didn't because I had your father yanking at my ankles and telling me, he wasn't gonna let me waste away in a single sized bed. Just like Scott tried with you."

She looked away at the mention of her father, a burning ache taking over in her chest. She hadn't known her father was going to react like he did the night before. Sure, she knew he'd be upset, but she expected more of the silent treatment than all out anger. Tears prickled at the corners of her vision and a sob lodged its way into the back of her throat.

Fingertips hooked under her chin, tilting it so their gazes locked. 

"Hey. He'll come around soon enough, you know he will, but until then, we have a date with some pancakes. Now, come on. Hup, hup. " 

Stiles was glad that she had listened, her rib cage feeling looser at doing something familiar and routine. That is, until Scott tensed before her, head snapping up to face the entrance behind her. She had a moment of pure panic rush through her, thinking that it was Derek walking into the diner, and that Scott was going to jump over the booth they were in and attack him. 

When there was only the sound of a throat clearing, Stiles glanced up and found her father standing there, uniform nowhere in sight and hands wringing together so tightly, his knuckles were white. Her gaze immediately fell to her lap, heart racing in her chest and fingers clenched around her knife and fork. Scott hooks his ankle around hers under the table. She swallows harshly at how thankful she is for it. 

"Mind if I, uh, join you guys?" He asked. 

From the curtain of hair before her eyes, she watched Melissa raise an eyebrow at him and cross her arms across her chest. "Depends if you've removed your head from your ass."

Despite herself, Stiles smiled. She always reminded her of a lioness, fiercely protective of her cubs. 

The Sheriff must have nodded because there were the sounds of someone sliding in beside her, then a familiar warmth emitting into her side. Stiles felt boxed in, trapped, but she doesn't look up from her lap, is too scared to even glance in his direction, let alone make a break for the door. 

"I think I need to go for a piss," Scott blurts out, when the silence thickens. "Let me out, please mom."

With a groan, Melissa did, moving towards the register and away from the table. "No subtlety at all. I'm gonna go order your food, John."

Stiles hears him thank her before said silence continues. 

"I'm pretty sure my daughter is here somewhere," her father says after a while, a tone of wonder in his voice. "You wouldn't know where she is, would you, Cousin It?"

Unable to stop the smile tugging at her lips, the memory of them playing hide and seek together one Saturday, comes to mind. A nine year old her couldn't find a hiding spot that hadn't already been used and ended up sitting on the couch, with her hair draped over her knees, all the while trying to make sounds like the hairy character from The Addams Family. She honestly doesn't know how her father didn't collapse into laughter right there and then at the ridiculous scene before him, but she's kind of glad he didn't when he found her. 

Stiles squeaks and garbles softly before nodding. 

"You do? Do you think that maybe she could come home?" The Sheriff says, shifting a little closer to throw an arm along the line of the booth. He leans in so he can whisper in her ear, like it's a secret between the two of them. "You see, I've been a royal jerk to her and there's nothing more in this world that I want to do right now, is to apologise to my daughter and tell her that I love her so much. No matter what she decides to do in life."

Scott and Melissa's words play in her ears and her body shudders with relief. Vision going blurry with tears, Stiles slowly lifts her head and looks up at him, coming face to face with a gentle smile and cloudy eyes. 

"There's my pretty girl." He murmurs, thumbing away her tears. 

She slides closer, arms slipping around his waist as she tucks her face in the curve of his throat, grip tightening when she feels her father wrap her up in an embrace. 

"I'm so sorry, baby." He apologises again, placing a kiss on the crown of her head, on her temple. "I hope you can forgive me for being so stupid."

"I already have." Stiles mumbles. Her hands tighten around the material she was grasping. "I'm sorry too."

"There's nothing for you to sorry for." Her father murmurs, "These things happen to people all the time. And just like them, we'll figure it out together, okay?"

She nods, inhaling his cologne and letting out a breath that doesn't feel shorter than the last. 

She can finally breathe.

~

"Are you gonna tell him that it's Derek's?"

Stiles sighs and sends a lost look towards Scott. He's starfishing it out on his back on her bed, head hanging off the edge with a half eaten twizzler held in the corner of his mouth. She has no idea where he found it, but she hopes it wasn't from her stash behind some books on the book shelf. Knowing her luck, it probably is. 

"I'm not sure. It all kind of depends on Derek." She replies, shrugging halfheartedly. Sitting at her desk, she fiddles with the pages of her Chemistry text book. "I made him swear not to say anything to anyone, that you were the only one that knew from the Pack. Told him that I was going to tell the rest of them soon."

"Do you know how far you are?" He asks, rolling onto his stomach. There's the sounds of something crinkling and her eyes narrow when she sees the familiar packet.

Fuck werewolves' sense of smell. Seriously. Is nothing sacred anymore?

"Your mom says I'm a month in. Why?" 

"You don't smell." He says offhandedly, eyeing inside the packet, fingers pulling one out before putting it back for another. 

"Well _gee_ , thanks." She replies sarcastically, mouth pulled down into a hard frown. 

"Not like that, dumbass." Scott rolls his eyes and continues to chew on another twizzler. "I meant your scent hasn't changed. Pregnant women get a sweet scent, sort of citrusy. It's good that mom works at a hospital, I trained myself with all the different types of smells; death, pregnancy, sickness, _arrrrrrousal._ "

She throws her stapler at him, annoyed even more that he batted it away without so much as a flail. "Asshole." 

Why can't her legendary crush on Lydia just disappear? She still gets talks from Sister Lorene about how it's just a phase and it'll pass, despite the fact that Stiles has vehemently told the woman there's a scientific thing called bisexuality. 

He laughs, shoulders twitching up in a shrug. "You're the one that wanted to know."

Stiles groans then and scrubs at her face. "Pregnancy has a scent?"

"Everything has a scent. Did you not learn from Gerard?"

An unwelcome shiver courses through her body, flashes of fists and boots slamming into her coming to mind. Oh, she _definitely_ learned from him. 

"Yeah. I seem to remember being kept out of that plan, just like someone else. You should know him. He's sour, kind of a dick, has stubble and has a pair of eyes that turn into red lasers sometimes when he's pissed."

Scott winces. "Sorry."

She waves his apology away, body stiffening when a thought passes through her mind. "You know what pregnancy smells like."

"I thought we established that," he mumbles, mouth working over the candy he's just shoved into his mouth. How Allison finds that attractive, she'll never know. 

"Yes," she says slowly, begging him silently to think. "And you happen to be a _bitten_ werewolf who has trained himself to figure out which scent means what. What the fuck does that mean for _born_ werewolves?"

Stiles sees when Scott finally clicks on, head snapping up, eyes wide and cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. "Derek."

"Peter _and_ Cora," she finishes, feeling dizzy. Pulling her legs up and leaning her forehead against her knees, she tries not to bang her head against them. Or throw up. "This is the worst weekend ever."

"It's only about to get worse," Scott comments after his phone chimes, the grimace in his voice being heard. "Chris wants you at the meeting point in an hour."

"What? It's Sunday!" Stiles snaps up, watches as he replies back to Allison. "How am I gonna train? Lydia always goes for an elbow to the stomach. Doesn't matter that I know it's coming, she still manages to get the blow in. I think I have permanent dent in my liver because of her."

Hysteria wells up in her throat, makes her stomach drop from fear. She rubs unconsciously above her naval and sends a pleading look at Scott.

"Chris said he doesn't care what day it is, get your ass there." Her best friend says before suggesting with a weak smile. "Tell them?"

"I can't tell them, I haven't even told the father yet!"

"That's not your fault though," he replies with a rumble, eyes flashing. "He's being a colossal asshat about _feelings_ you don't even have."

Letting out a frustrated noise, Stiles runs a hand through her hair, fingers hooking in and tugging sharply. It does little to relieve the tension in her back or the panic buzzing in her chest. "I'm just gonna have to wing it."

Scott pauses in his texting to look at her. "Dude, if Lydia gets you in the stomach -"

"I might lose it." 

~

Sweat is collecting in the hollow of her collarbones and making the back of her tank top stick to her spine, her pulse rushing in her ears. She pushes on though, watches Allison counteract a kick to the ribs with the heel of her palms held out, one hand hooking under Lydia's thigh and yanking to throw her off balance. 

Using the momentarily blind spot, Stiles drops her body low, her own leg lashing out and swiping at Allison's ankles, hearing the satisfying sound of air being punched out of her chest when she lands. Darting forward, she only has a split second to change from offence to defence when the Huntress flips back onto the balls of her feet, and block Allison's punch with two swift jabs to the ribs. 

Lydia decides then, that it's a good enough opportunity to tackle them, fingers wrapping tightly around Stiles' wrist and pulling her to roll onto her back, the red head's legs straddling her waist. 

Struggling to keep the wooden blade away from her neck, - the aim of the game is to press the edge against your opponent's neck and force them to yield - Stiles pitches the red head forward, managing to smash their foreheads together before throwing her off, the blade tossed to the side, forgotten. Scrambling for it, she shakes her head to clear it before Allison can get her breath back, and pushes the knife against the column of her throat. 

"Out, Allison." Her father's voice calls. 

The Huntress accepts defeat, body slumping and taps twice on the ground for Stiles to see with a fingerless gloved hand. 

She doesn't even get a chance to sigh in relief, when there's a sharp pain blooming in the centre of her spine and then she's falling. Stiles drops the blade, arms protectively going out to curl around her stomach before she connects, choking at the dust cloud she inhales on impact.

Lydia flips her onto her back and mirroring her movements of straddling her waist again, she tries to get at Stiles' neck. She knows it's coming, the elbow to the stomach so before the red head can even think to move into position, she does instead. 

Keeping her chin planted firmly between her collarbones, Stiles rolls them to the side, lands a hard blow to the solar plexus and uses Lydia's hand to press the blade to her own throat, only going limp when two manicured fingers are held up in submission. 

Flopping onto her back, she accepts the fist bump Lydia throws in her direction. "I'll get you next time, Stilinski." 

"Whatever you say, Martin." She pants, grinning when all she gets in return is a playful wink. 

Scott pulls her up quickly, hands hovering over her body anxiously and the beginnings of a whine coming from the back of his throat. She swats him away before anyone can see or ask questions. "I'm fine."

He glances at her, eyes slightly narrowed before he sighs and nods, moving back just as she hears Isaac's low whistle, "This gets mildly hotter every time. I say we get a kiddie pool and fill it up with water next time." 

There's the sounds of a loud slap, a whimper and then Cora's voice, "You and me are sparring, get ready."

"But we'll be doing that with Peter tomorrow morning! It's time to relax!"

"Then you should have stayed at the loft." Is his reply. "Now, come on."

Smiling as Isaac groans despite moving into position, she walks over to where her stuff is, grabs her water bottle and takes a huge gulp. 

"Your technique has changed."

She nearly spits out the liquid, spins and faces Chris with his arms across his chest, eyes observing Cora kick Isaac's ass. 

She wipes at her chin. "Excuse me?" 

"You've never been that reckless before, you've always calculated your next three moves with detached precision." He continues, eyes narrowed. "Now you're much more aggressive and first to make a move."

Furrowing her eyebrows, she looks at him weirdly. "Well, that might be because I had to win a three-way fight with two equally strong chicks, one of them being a Huntress and the other a Banshee. It makes sense to be the first to attack then counter. Even then, I still have a bruised wrist and a likely concussion, after your daughter thought it'd be a good idea to smash Lydia's head with mine."

He doesn't say anything, keeps his eyes on the fighting werewolves. "Whatever has you protecting your stomach, better come out sooner than later, Stiles."

 _Fuck._ It would be her luck that he'd notice, God damn it. 

She swallows but manages to keep her face from falling. "It's still tender from that fight with the troll. You try and push your body to its limits, after being tossed face first into a tree."

That gets him to face her, head tilted to the side and mouth pressed thinly, "I'm not a fool, so don't don't me play as one. That fight happened over two months ago and it wasn't your stomach that took the hit, it was your ribs. It's only a four week healing process, so try again."

Feeling cornered, she allows her steady heart rate to spike up, watches as Cora and Scott spin around with a growl, Isaac dropping down to a crouch, eyes glowing. 

"It's fine guys," she calls out, her own eyes still locked with Chris', ignoring Lydia and Allison's looks of confusion. "Thought I saw something in the woods."

They wait until the wolves have resumed fighting, the Huntress and red head turned back to watch before Chris concedes, "Good distraction. But it still doesn't answer my question."

"When there's a question asked, I'll answer." Stiles retorts, eyes full of challenge. "Until then, keep your mouth shut."

The older man grins, almost as if amused to have been threatened by her. He nods at her slightly. "Very well."

~

Stiles is an idiot. She doesn't know why she didn't think of it before, but when she did, she couldn't get it out of her head.

"What can I do for you, Ms. Stilinski?"

"Hey Doc," she greets, smiling at him with a puppy she had picked up from the kennels, wrapped in her arms. "Can I talk to you about something that can't under any circumstances, leave this room?"

Eyebrows furrowed, he nods and with an arm, sweeps it to the door leading out back, following closely behind when she steps forward into the doorway. 

"Place Cinnamon on the table," he instructs, smiling slightly when the bundle of spotted fur squirms at her name being used. "You're lucky that I was checking her next anyway, but you need to stop coming here and taking puppies out of their cages. It can get confusing if they're not in their cages when they need to be."

Stiles grins unashamedly, places Cinnamon on the table and scratches behind a floppy ear, "But they're so cute. How you and Scott get any work done here, is beyond me."

Rolling his eyes, Deaton's smile stretches, hands gentle as they encircle the puppy's round belly. "You wanted to talk?"

Grin falling from her face, she clears her throat. Time to get this show on the road. "If, just say hypothetically, someone wanted to mask their scent from werewolves, how would one go about it?"

"Depends if their Alpha is aware of it." He answers, raising a challenging eyebrow. "Hypothetically, of course."

Stiles' shoulders slump. "What if they promised asking to mask their scent, isn't for them to get up to mischief or putting anyone and themselves in danger?"

Cinnamon whines softly when Deaton stops his petting, his dark eyes narrowed on her face. He resumes much to the puppy's happy squirming and Stiles' dismay. She feels like the vet should be a villain on some Bond movie. "I'd ask them then what the need was to hide themselves?"

She gives him a forlorn look, tossing the hypothetical situation into the wind. "Please Doc. It's just for awhile, until I figure out some things. I'm not disappearing or anything, it's just. It's just for awhile."

"Are you in danger?"

"From where I stand, no. But I don't know where my situation will lead to."

It's silent after she answers but Stiles sees exactly when Deaton gives in, eyebrows and mouth relaxing as he nods. "Fine. Give me a moment."

While she keeps the inky furred pup distracted with belly rubs and Eskimo kisses, Stiles can hear the vet tinkering around in the room he keeps under lock and key, before resurfacing with two clear jars, one filled with a clear liquid and the other with dry herbs. 

He settles them on the medical table, Stiles picking up Cinnamon just in case the rambunctious thing bounds over and knocks one over. 

"This one here is holy water," he explains tapping the lid on the jar with the liquid before doing it to the other jar," It's to be mixed into this one and soaked together for twenty four hours before you start using it."

"Why holy water?" Stiles asks, confused. She's never heard someone using holy water outside of exorcisms and Supernatural.

Deaton seems to be in a loose lipped mood because he answers, "Holy water is used to purify everything it comes into contact with. By using it, you're cleansing your scent, giving it a clean slate."

That made sense...Barely, but she got the idea. "How do I use it? Please don't say I have to drink it."

A head shakes in his direction. "Bathe with it. Only one capful is to be poured into the water, that's it. No more or less than that cap, Stiles. Or the Pack will realise that they can't scent you. This is to subtilise it, not erase it."

Picking the jar with the herbs up, she inspects it with eyes narrowed. She can see herbs that she's worked with before; pine seeds and bark, wild capers, she can see wolfsbane and sage, chamomile. There's other plants and things she's never even seen before and a sticky substance that looks a lot like honey. What the fuck is honey doing in there? 

"Won't they smell the wolfsbane though?" She questions, glancing at him. 

Deaton shakes his head again, "The other herbs will mask it, but the wolfsbane is just there to tie this particular concoction to werewolves. There's just one thing you have to do first, to finish it."

Glancing up at him, Stiles isn't really expecting what he says. 

~

She wonders exactly how she's going to do it. 

It being, getting a strand of hair or a few drops of blood from every werewolf. 

Deaton said blood would be the better option, would bind the potion stronger than it would do hair, but Stiles suspects the Pack aren't gonna hand over blood little alone hair if she just asks. They'd probably look at her like she's just lost her damn mind. 

God, it sure feels like it. 

So, throughout the week, she slowly makes her way through the Pack, taking strands of hair like some thief in the night. 

Peter had been the easiest so far. She had just walked over to him, reached out and yanked on his hair, smiling innocently when all he did was raise an eyebrow at her and flatly say, "Ow."

Cora was the close second to being easy when getting strands of hair. The she-wolf loved Stiles braiding her hair. She kind of found out by accident that werewolves liked to be petted, if Scott and Cora were anything to go by. They'd go completely boneless, body slumping and a happy rumble beginning to echo in their chests. She's used that ploy before to get what she wants more times than she can count, and she's not even ashamed to admit it. 

And that's why she finds herself trying to convince Isaac to let her play with his hair. 

"If it'll get you to be quiet, fine!" Isaac finally snaps, after a series of annoying whines and head butting to the nape of his neck, from her. 

She grins, allows the taller boy to settle between her knees as he continues doing his homework at the coffee table, with Lydia's hawk like gaze zeroed in on his answers beside her on the couch. Making it quick, she snags a few strands, hissing out quietly in apology when Isaac flinches in pain. 

"Sorry," she mutters, soothing the sting with gentle fingertips while slipping the other hand with the hair into her pocket, "There was a knot."

He tries to be annoyed, she knows it. But as she scrapes her nails down the back of his scalp and behind his ear, - there's so many dog jokes there, it's ridiculous - Stiles can feel his tense shoulders slowly go lax. 

It's ten minutes later after that, she ends up with a lapful of sleepy Isaac, softly snuffling into her knee and a clearly amused more than annoyed, Lydia. Just because she can though, the red head snaps several photos and Stiles can't even be angry that there's a small puddle of drool on her skin, as she smiles down at the snoozing werewolf, her fingers still sweeping through his curls.

Derek was clearly the hardest. She couldn't exactly walk up to him and tug on his hair like she did Peter, she can't braid or play with his hair either like she did the Betas. So with that said, all that was left was getting blood. 

She's not proud of what she did, but it had to be done. 

"Jesus, Stiles!" Derek curses, hands holding his nose as crimson slowly runs down over his fingers. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"I said I was sorry!" She snaps, rushing over and pressing Peter's handkerchief - seriously, who has those nowadays? Actually why does _she_ have it? - against his face. "It's your own damn fault anyway. You shouldn't have snuck up on me!"

Her father watches from where he had rushed into the lounge room, gun drawn and Stiles can see the amused and proud look playing on his face, almost as if he's saying, 'Look at my girl, punching guys in the face and breaking their noses first, questions later.'

She can't help but puff out her chest a little. 

"Are you okay?" She asks, gently pulling the bloody cloth away from his face. 

Derek nods, wriggling his nose in a way that would be deemed cute if he didn't look like a zombie extra. 

"Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up while I get you something else to wear," Stiles orders, gesturing to his ruined shirt and pushing on his shoulders towards the staircase. 

She follows and turns into her bedroom, quickly and with a grimace, squeezes Derek's blood into a cup before sliding it under her bed. 

Running into the bathroom and ignoring the Alpha werewolf's protests, she washes her hands before rushing back to grab one of his Henleys she's stolen from his loft. 

What, they're comfortable to sleep in.

"Here," Stiles offers, holding the shirt out to him, eyes skating over his body, muscle shifting under tanned skin. 

"Thanks," Derek mutters, shucking it on and covering up all that deliciousness. 

She's not gonna lie, if her father wasn't downstairs and sex was still on the table - Jesus that's not something she should be thinking about right now - she might have initiated a quickie in her bathroom. 

It clearly doesn't happen because that was what started this whole fucking mess in the first place. 

"Now, what did you want before I punched you in the face?"

She grins when he glares at her. 

"This," he finally says, pulling out his phone and showing her a text that she had sent the day before. 

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "It's about Lydia's birthday. We're all going to Jungle."

Derek glowers. "Yes, what's this 'we' shit."

What is with him and not putting a question mark on the end of his questions? See? Two in a row. Easy as pie. 

Rolling her eyes, she walks out of the bathroom and downstairs with him on her heels. "The Pack is going and as Alpha of said Pack, you are going too."

"I don't think I'm comfortable with you going to a club. You're still underage and there's what's happened with the kanima business too," her father pipes in, eating her discarded sandwich.

She'd yell at him but all it is, is ham and some salad, so she figures she can be lenient. 

"See, your father says you're not going." Derek agrees, with a nod and hand gesture in his direction. "Looks like we can't go since the party planner isn't."

It's her turn to scowl. She turns to her dad, "Trust me, no one is more safer than I am in that club, Peter's coming. He won't let anyone near me, though I don't need to be treated like some fucking delicate flower." She ignores the reprimanding look from the Sheriff. Stiles then turns to Derek, delighting in the way he leans towards her father slighly. "You're going and that's final. If you don't, I will make your life as bright and colourful as I can. Do you really want me to redecorate your loft with flowers, pictures of puppies and the colours of the rainbow, because I can and will."

She crosses her arms over her chest when she's met with silence, more than willing to wait this particular battle out.

"Fine," he grouches finally, nodding at the Sheriff, glaring at her before stalking out of the kitchen, the front door closing with a soft thud behind him. 

It's quiet again for a few minutes before her father begins to laugh. 

She looks at him like he's crazy. "What?"

"You'd think you were the Alpha and not him." He replies, his laughter dwindling down to snorts and chuckles. Picking up the other half of her sandwich, he bites into it. "It's just funny to see a man cower at another man's daughter."

Stiles can't help but grin, because fuck yeah, hear her roar. 

~

She works on the potion that night, places the strands of hair from the Pack and blood from Derek into the jar with all the other ingredients, before pouring the Holy water into it and shaking it around like a maraca. 

She expects something, fireworks, a flash of light, hell maybe even the ground opening up and spitting out demons, but nothing. She just watches the herbs float around, seemingly dancing to an unknown beat as the water turns into a light pink. 

Shoving it back into place under her bed, Stiles puts an alarm on her phone for twenty four hours, glances at the jar again before pulling the covers back down. 

~

"So, this will mask your scent?" Scott asks, gaze locked with the jar, eyes darting this way and that. 

Stiles wants to snort a little because he reminds her of a cat watching a fish tank. "Yeah, Deaton says it'll subtilise it until I'm ready."

"How come I can still scent you?"

"Because I haven't used it yet and because your hair isn't in it."

He looks at her then from his position on the floor, head tilted to the side. "Why?"

She smiles fondly, leans off the corner of her bed and flicks him on the forehead. "I had every intention of telling you, Scott. You're my best friend. There's no way you were going to be added to this."

Grinning at her, Scott darts in and nuzzles at her cheek with his nose. "When the baby's born, can I teach them to call me Uncle?"

It's at that moment she realises, she's going to keep it. Despite having her father support her in whatever she chose, she can't put her child up for adoption. 

Not with the way her father seems to smile softly at commercials with babies on it, not with the way Scott's looking at her right now, eyes wide and and a grin threatening to split his cheeks apart. Especially not now that Stiles finds herself thinking of names when she's bored, or making a checklist in her mind about what she needs; bottles and formula, a crib. Little onesies with the booties attached, maybe the teddy bear ones so a brown paw print is printed on each foot and hand. 

She's going to keep it. She's going be a mother. Her father will be Grandpa or Pop. Melissa will be Aunty Mel. And Scott'll be --

"Uncle Scotty." Stiles says, mouth curving up at how it rolls off the tongue. "I like the sound of that."

~

There's a not so subtle sniff to her person when she sees Cora and Isaac a day after. 

"Did you change shampoos or something?" Cora says, head tilted to the side and eyebrows raised. 

Scott stills beside them, eyes darting towards her.

Isaac crowds in, nose running down the side of her throat and wings of her collarbones, which admittedly, is uncomfortable since the curly haired werewolf is at least a few inches taller than her. 

"Changed body washes," Stiles answers with a squirm, letting out a giggle when there's a warm puff of air tickling her neck. "Sorry, if it's stronger than my usual one, but this one was cheaper."

"No, no. It's nice." Isaac answers, removing himself from her personal bubble. "It's better, actually more fainter than your other one. You smell like honey." 

Both she and Scott relax minutely. 

"Oh," Stiles murmurs, not sure if she's happy that it worked or upset that it did, "Cool."

~

It's days after getting compliments from the werewolves of changed body washes, that she steps into the loft, startled by Peter popping up out of nowhere, eyebrows furrowed and head to the side as he gazes at her. 

She had moved on instinct, whipping her arm out and shoving the blade up towards his neck, managing to twist it at the last second to keep the sharp edges away from skin, Peter's fingers wrapped loosely around her wrist. 

"Jesus, you scared me!" Stiles says, one hand pressed over her heart and the other pushing the blade strapped to her inner wrist back into place. She stands on her toes and places a kiss on his cheek. "Is Derek here? I need to talk to him."

"In the kitchen," the older werewolf answers, not at all worried at the fact that there's a healing nick on his throat. "Stiles, I think we --"

"What are you doing here?" Derek interrupts, stepping out of said kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. 

She rolls her eyes. "Don't act as if you weren't listening to every word that was said. You know why I'm here. I need to talk to you."

Clenching his jaw, he nods at Peter, watches as his uncle makes himself scarce, but not before throwing her a look. 

"Okay, weird." Stiles mutters, shaking her head. She turns and gestures at Derek to lead the way, the Alpha werewolf letting out a heavy sigh and silently complying. 

She closes the door to the balcony and leans against it for a second, silently drawing strength from it. 

Standing up straight, she folds her arms across her chest and gives him a stern look. "We need to talk about what happened two weeks ago."

Rolling his eyes, he lets out a grunt. "There's nothing to talk about. You just need to be a grown up about it and get over what feelings you have."

Suddenly, the wind blows sharply around them, matching the anger that flashes hotly in her chest and glare taking over her features. "If I can get over a six year crush on Lydia, rest assured, if there were any feelings towards you, I'd be able to get over them. What I'm talking about is, the last time we --"

"Stiles, will you be a dear and accompany me to pick up the Chinese." Peter interrupts opening the door, keys in hand and leaning against the door frame. 

She tries not to groan out in annoyance. Casting a look over at Derek tells her she's not the only one. "I'm a bit busy right now, can't Isaac go with you?"

"He's not here and I'm gonna have to insist." 

Taking in the tense shoulders and clenched jaw, she relents with a nod. Even though they're pretty close, she doesn't want to be on the receiving end of Peter's anger. He got downright snarky and Stiles wouldn't have it in herself to resist the barbs for long. "Sure, I'll be out in a minute. Just let me get a jacket."

The keys are tossed over to her. "I'll get one, you start the car."

Stiles shares a raised eyebrow with Derek before shrugging, walking out with a sense of worry beginning to build in her stomach. 

She starts the car when Peter jumps into the passenger seat, slipping on Isaac's hoodie that he handed over to her before driving off. She doesn't start asking questions until they're well out of the way of Derek's loft, the paranoia of werewolves overhearing a conversation they're not meant to hear, setting in. 

When they hit the main road though, Peter beats her to the punch. "Whose is it?"

Snapping her head to look at him, she splutters out, "What?"

"Don't fuck with me, Stiles." He snaps, glaring. "Whose baby are you carrying?"

She'll say it again. Fuck. Werewolves'. Sense. Of. Smell. 

Pulling over before she accidentally crashed, she swallows. "I thought I masked the scent."

"You didn't do a very good job, did you? Answer the question."

Wringing her hands together and keeping her gaze forward, despite the third degree burns she's receiving from the passenger side, she says, "It's Derek's."

"Jesus Christ." Peter sighs after a few minutes of silence, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "How long have you known and how far?"

"A week and a half." She answers, still not meeting his gaze. "Four weeks, give or take."

"Who helped you mask your scent? I've scented similar concoctions before, but never this subtle."

Stiles bites at her bottom lip, fiddles with the fraying cover that's wrapped around the steering wheel. "I went to Deaton. Asked him for help in covering my scent. He doesn't know why, told him it wasn't life threatening but what was said in the Clinic, wasn't to leave the room." 

"You don't know what you've done, have you?" He asks, grabbing her by the chin and turning to face him. "You've just fucked everything up."

Hurt pulses through her veins before quickly dissolving into anger. One because he's never spoken to her like that and two being she didn't knock herself up. It does take two to freaking tango. "What the fuck does that supposed to mean?" 

"You've jeopardised the Pack, Stiles." He says, shaking her chin gently. "You not saying anything about this before has now put you, the baby and us at risk."

"Derek wouldn't let me get a word in!" She growls, glaring. "And you just stopped me from doing it again!"

"Then you should have shouted it at him, screamed from the rooftops, told me to get fucked. This is usually a situation that needs delicacy, I know that, but given the fact that your life has werewolves in it, you have no time for easing Derek into this."

Her throat closes up and her heart pounds a tattoo against her ribs as she goes over his words. "You said I jeopardised the Pack. How?"

"The Slater Pack. Derek's already agreed to have them come here, a Pack of forty strong. We've only got eight people, seven because you're now out of commission." He explains, letting her chin go. 

"But I'll still be there, right?" She protests. She can't not be there. 

Peter flicks her on the forehead. "Don't you get it? You have no choice _but_ to be there. They know we have eight members and if you're not present, it'll look like we have something to hide."

"And they'll get offended and start asking questions, maybe even start a Pack war." She finishes, finally piecing everything together. "What the fuck am I gonna do? I can't even tell Derek to reconsider, that might offend them too and that won't end well either."

"We're gonna have to mask your scent a little better." He sighs, face pinched. "Make sure they don't go anywhere near you. That's all we can do until they leave."

"I can't tell him or the Pack, can I?" Stiles questions, and all she wants is the ground to swallow her whole. It'd make everyone's lives a whole lot easier, by the looks of things. 

Peter looks condescending at that. "You should, but being pregnant with an _Alpha's_ child, it's gonna send all our wolves into a frenzy. You, Allison and Lydia think we're bad now, it's only gonna get worse for you the further along you are."

Scrubbing at her face, she makes up her mind. "I'll tell them soon. I don't want to ruin tomorrow night for Lydia. It'll be the first birthday she's had where she's not delusional or finding dead bodies in the woods somewhere."

Peter winces slightly but nods. "You sure?"

Stiles while starting the car, sends him a bright and just as fake smile. "Nothing says Pack Bonding like finding out about your Alpha knocking someone up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also have no idea why holy water would be used but I didn't want to use normal water? So. Add a little holy into it and bam! Potion. Don't judge me.


	3. Chapter Three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles does something stupid, more people find out and she's back to square one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I'm very nervous about this chapter as it does have some smut in it. Please be gentle with me, if you have any thoughts on it to help me improve. If there's anything I need to tag, let me know. 
> 
> Another big chapter, 5k. 
> 
> The Stiles/ OFC is minor. So please don't worry about any love triangles of any sort. :)
> 
> ily. You're all beautiful. Enjoy. 
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://the-calvaree.tumblr.com)

"You gonna tell me what that was with Chris the other day?" Cora asks, eyebrows raised. 

Why are Hunters and werewolves so fucking perceptive, Stiles couldn't help but think, taking measured breathes in and slowly letting them out. 

She waves the question away. "It's like I said, I thought I saw something in the woods. Was just my eyes. If your brother stops getting me to look at teeny tiny writing, my sight could recover." 

Cora snorts and throws a pillow at her. "Yeah, whatever you say. Just know, that I know you're lying, but I'll back off so long as he hasn't done anything."

She smiles in thanks and shakes her head. "Nothing was said or done."

"You'll tell me otherwise?"

"I swear," Stiles promises, holding out her hand, pinky raised. 

Even though she's given a withering look that she's sure all Hales possess, Cora links her finger with hers and shakes on it, rolling her eyes when Stiles grins at her. 

They're lounging in Lydia's room, waiting patiently - sort of - as she gets ready for tonight. Stiles has already been forced into clothes she'd never see in her wardrobe, but she's thankful that there was no protest at her wearing her favourite pair of scuffed boots. 

Plucking self-consciously at the pair of short shorts she's wearing, Lydia's voice echoed in her ear, "You have legs, Stiles. Show them off."

She had complied with a pout and nearly threw herself out the window when shown what was being paired with them. It was a purple off the shoulder top, the back of the shirt being cut out and replaced with mesh. 

"I can't wear this!" She protested, holding out the offending piece of clothing. "You can see my bra!"

"That's why you wear this under it instead," Cora rolled her eyes, throwing something that looked like candy dishes. "They're cups, to lift the girls up without the added stress of bra straps and hooks."

Oh. Not candy dishes then. 

The low whistles she received when Isaac, Allison and Scott picked them up ten minutes later, sent heat flaring in her cheeks. 

"I hate you," she mutters, shoving the curly haired werewolf away when he went to hug her. 

"Spend the night with me, darlin', and I guarantee you won't in the mornin'." He drawls, waggling his eyebrows at her and grinning when she tosses her head back with a loud laugh. He holds out his arm for her with a slight bow. "Shall we, milady?"

Slipping her hand between the crook of his elbow, she curtsies, "We shall."

~

"I hope that's a coke," a voice says in her ear. 

She pulls back in surprise, rolling her eyes skyward when finding a grinning Peter, her tense body relaxing. She nods with a sigh, when he continues to eye at her glass suspiciously. He definitely wasn't lying when he said they'd be more stifling than usual. 

The older werewolf and Scott had nearly driven her mad yesterday, growling lowly when she so much as lifted her hand or snapping their jaws when Isaac "got a little too rough."

All he had done was poked Stiles in the side, an action that didn't warrant two pissed off, overreacting werewolves to pounce and go for the throat. 

She had already given Scott an earful through various degrees of glaring and hard frowns, - in which she got guilty eyes and pouts in return - before setting her metaphorical claws into Peter. 

Though, he managed to get there first. Again. 

"You told Scott, why couldn't you tell me?" 

Stiles had frozen, staring up at the older werewolf who was trying for nonchalance and missing by a mile. He was tense, shoulders hunched up by his ears and hands balled into fists.

"I panicked." She admitted, leaning against Peter's car, eyes transfixed on her house before them. "On some level, I still am. Dad already reacted in a way I expected, Derek's being his usual difficult self. I don't think I could handle you shutting me out."

Peter's jaw ticks twice before he questioned, "Who was I seeking revenge for two years ago?"

Confused, Stiles glanced at him. "Your family."

"My. Family." Peter enunciated, palm landing on her stomach gently. "I may be a lot of things, Stiles. Monster, psychopath, killer. But if you ever need my help with this baby, I'll give it to you, because I want to be an _uncle_ again."

Peter was a lot of things, _was the very things he listed_ , but he was also something else. Her protector, even if he didn't know it. 

Her lips had twitched into a thankful smile before she leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

He moved and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Don't apologise, there's no need."

"Aren't you a little old to be in a night club?" She asks, bringing herself out of her thoughts. 

"Well, since someone threw me under the bus to their father, who happens to be be the Sheriff in town, I had no choice." He shrugs, sits next to her in the booth before glancing down at her, eyebrows raised. "Considering what you're wearing, I think it's a good idea that it wasn't something I _could_ say no to."

Stiles groans, thumping her forehead against the table. "That bad?"

"From all the appreciative eyes, I'd say the opposite."

"How's that possible? There's hardly any straight men here." She points out, eyebrows arced. 

"Who said anything about men?" Peter retorts, jutting his chin out towards where two females where watching her intently, their bottom lips trapped coyly between their teeth. 

"Stop it."

He throws an arm around her shoulders, "Relax and enjoy the attention. You're still a teenager, you should indulge in these things. Besides, everyone know of the crush on a certain red head. It's not like you're not interested in licking the icing _and_ sucking the cream from a cake."

She jabs him hard in the side when he laughs at her scowl. "You're the absolute worst."

As if on cue, Lydia pops up from out of nowhere, dimples at Peter when he wishes her a happy birthday, before grabbing at her wrist and pulling her to a stand. "I'm stealing her for awhile, hope you don't mind."

Smiling, he nods his consent and then she's yanked onto the dance floor, a sea of bodies swallowing her up. 

Mindful of the sharp elbows, Stiles wraps her arms around her stomach, "Lyds, you know I'm a hazard when I walk, what makes you think I can dance!"

The red head stops and raises a disbelieving eyebrow up as her hands rest on her hips. She's oblivious of - or just straight up ignoring - everyone around them, like it's just the two of them on the floor. Stiles is kind of jealous of that superpower. 

"Don't bullshit me. The talk I heard from the entire Swim _and_ Lacrosse team, save for Scott after Nina Cole's party, says you can dance."

Ah. Well. That was true, she guessed. It wasn't entirely her fault. Cora had gotten her completely liquored up beforehand, and shoved her onto the makeshift dance floor when arriving to quote-unquote, "get fucking laid, because this is just pathetic." 

Little did the youngest Hale know, Stiles had had just enough time to shower before Cora came over an hour prior, and smelt the fact she'd just been fucked to an inch of her life by her older brother. 

So, semantics. 

Unconsciously, her hips begin to sway from side to side, the heavy bass of the current song blaring through the speakers of Jungle, directing her movements and speed. 

It's like she's adopted Lydia's superpower then. It's just her on the dance floor, the flashing lights making everything seem bright, the music throbbing through her and making her pulse roar, the smoky darkness engulfing her in its warm embrace.

She's pulled further into it, the two females she'd seen earlier with Peter crowding into her chest and back, soft hands and mouths sliding against her skin. She's all too happy to accept the kiss from the brunette in front of her, nipping lightly at her bottom lip before soothing the sting away with a swipe of tongue. 

The blonde from behind grasps her chin gently, and the angle is all types of awkward, but Stiles sighs into the kiss anyway, her arm hooking around the nape of Blondie's neck to reel her in closer, while a pair of soft lips press against the column of her throat, teeth scraping against her racing pulse. 

Fingertips glide over the skin of her thighs and under her top, the touch sending heat through her veins and making her knees go weak. Her own hands wander between the two of them, burying themselves in hair with a tight grip or skimming under the dresses they both wear, her bottom lip either caught between her own teeth or theirs. 

They leave her after three songs, with a breathy question that she'll join them again for something a little more explicit. Stiles winks and nods, accepts the kisses both women give her before disappearing into the crowd.

Stiles loses time, herself in the music and bodies, only coming up when she bumps into Allison and Scott, grinning a little when the Huntress blushes at being caught grinding with her best friend. She shrugs at her and does a 'carry on' motion with her hand. She's seen worse, done worse if her little dance three-way was anything to go by. 

Isaac's no where to be seen, but she knows he's having fun, any person would be lucky as fuck to be able to touch those cheekbones and curls. 

The last time she had seen Cora was between the two bodies of a couple, lip caught between her teeth when the red haired female pulled her closer to her chest, arm wrapping around the black haired male at her back, hips rolling back and forth between them as Cora shared kisses with the two. 

Stiles turns to glance back over at the booth she left Peter in, eyes widening when she sees _two_ men there, one of them being the older werewolf and the other baring his neck to biting kisses. 

Werewolves were sure fluid in their sexuality. 

She snorts and wrinkles her nose when she watches Peter and his partner get acquainted with each other's mouths. Hah, wait till Lydia hears about this. 

Freezing, her head snaps to the left then right, a sigh of relief escaping her lips when she spots Lydia. The red head's on the podium dancing with two beautiful drag queens, one hand flung up above her and the other with a drink in it, painted lips wrapped around a penis shaped straw. Stiles can only assume she's having fun too. 

The only person that's missing is good ole Derek I-Can't-Have-Fun Hale. She hasn't seen him since they got here, the Alpha disappearing into the shadows the second he stepped foot into Jungle. 

Stiles shrugs to herself. Whatever. 

~

She's declining an invitation to dance from some drunk guy when she feels it; the sensation of being watched. It's a weird feeling, a phantom touch that caresses her skin, sends heat searing through her veins and a thrill down her spine. 

Derek. 

Stiles knows she's playing with fire, knows that it's a bad idea to tempt herself more than usual, but there's just so much she can take. 

She's lost count of how many times she's dreamt of being pinned down to any flat surface available, kisses over every inch of skin while being slowly taken apart, the scrape of stubble between her thighs or the steady rhythm of being fucked from behind. 

Stiles lost count of how many times she's awoken with a gasp, body shuddery and sweat at her brow. She'd always fight the urge to bring herself off at first, tried to think of other things, tried to go back to sleep, but it never worked. She always ended up with a hand down her pants and Derek's name on her tongue. 

Biting at her lip, she makes a quick decision before deliberately and slowly tilting her head to the left. It almost feels like no time has passed, since she's realised that Derek's been watching her and she's bared her neck, so she startles when familiar lips press lightly over her pulse. 

Stiles shivers, pushes further into Derek's touch and is rewarded with a hard nip to the skin of her throat, hands cupping her hips and pulling her flushed against his chest. 

"You smell like them, like those girls you were dancing with."

Her thighs clench together from the low timbre of his voice, at the way one of his hands come up and tugs on her hair, baring more of her throat to hard bites.

The alarm bells are going off in her head, blaring loud and clear, but she can't stop herself from grinding up against him, one hand wrapping around his neck and the other slipping up under the leather jacket and Henley he's wearing, fingertips grazing just above Derek's belt buckle, humming at the back of her throat when the hands encasing her waist and hair, tighten. 

"Get rid of it then," she breathes, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. 

She's being led backwards, not once bumping into anyone and Stiles, for a second, curses werewolf senses, before feeling her back press up against a cool wall, one of Derek's thighs being shoved between her knees and his mouth slotting over hers. 

Kissing Derek always left her breathless, always left her in a state between absolute bliss and jittery nerves, like she was doing something she knew was dangerous but did it anyway, consequences be damned. Now is clearly no exception.

"Please," Stiles manages to gasp when she pulls away, chest heaving and hips rolling against the muscular thigh still wedged between her legs. She doesn't know what she's asking for, but has an idea when she shifts and grinds her lower stomach against the hard length of him. "Derek, _please_."

Nose tracing along the line of her jaw, he mouths at a patch of skin under her ear. "What do you want, Stiles? Tell me."

"I want you inside me," she pants, teeth closing around his earlobe and tugging, grinning when she feels the snarl rumbling in his chest like the music pulsing around her. 

Quick fingers pull and tug at her zipper and panties, and then Derek's sinking two fingers into her. She clutches at his shoulders, eyes fluttering closed as she meets his slow rhythm, bottom lip trapped between her teeth when Derek curls his fingers up at every thrust. 

Her body's buzzing, quivering from the sensory overload of having the Alpha's fingers enter her in a leisurely pace, while his thumb swipes at her clit in fast strokes. 

Derek's other hand trails down her ribs to behind her knee, pulling her leg up to curl around his hip and Jesus fucking Christ, she's missed this. 

"Make me come." Stiles whimpers in his ear, when she feels the familiar tightening in her belly, in the way her legs begin to shake. "Please, Derek, I wanna come!"

She's then pinned to the wall, sharp teeth biting at her throat, and that's it, she's coming. 

It takes her several minutes to stop her body from shuddering, less than that to realise what a fucking mistake she's just made. 

Stiles pulls away from Derek, can't even look at him as she zips up her shorts, tries to fix her disheveled appearance. "We shouldn't have done that."

The Alpha gives her a weird look, eyes darting around the crowd at his back. "Don't worry, no one saw."

She shakes her head. "That's not what I meant. I shouldn't -- we shouldn't have done that all."

All of a sudden she feels sick, stomach rolling heavily, a burning sensation at the back of her throat and behind her eyes.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Stiles pushes passed him, heading straight for where the booth and Peter is, looking pretty relaxed like the cat that got the bowl of cream. 

Darting towards him, she pitches herself into his chest, taking the older werewolf by surprise by the way he stumbles slightly, arms closing around her waist to steady them. 

"Stiles? Stiles, what's wrong?" He asks, strong hands running down her arms and ribs, looking for any injuries. 

"Take me home, please!" She begs, tears brimming. "I don't want to be here anymore!"

She watches as his nose flares, knows by the way his jaw clenches and his eyes flare up, that he knows why she wants to leave. God, she must _reek_ of sex. 

Her stomach rolls harder. 

"Alright, alright." He soothes, linking their fingers together and pulling her towards the exit, managing to get a cab the second they step out of Jungle. 

She scoots in after him, plastering herself to his side, body shaking for whole new reasons.

"I'm not gonna ask what happened in there, I can figure that part out for myself." Peter murmurs, a low rumble echoing in his chest, so low that the cab driver doesn't seem to notice it. It soothes her frazzled nerves, makes her cling to him tighter. "I just want to know, was it on your terms?"

Stiles nods, nose brushing against the soft material of his Henley. She wonders briefly if all the Hale men wore them, or was it just an acquired taste shared between nephew and uncle. "Yeah."

"Alright, then. That's one problem taken care of, I guess." He sighs, patting her arm gently. "Sleep, I'll carry you inside."

She doesn't argue. 

~

The first time she saw all the wolves together eating, it was pretty entertaining. Elbows digging into soft sides, stealing food off of plates that weren't theirs and depending on the food, even eye flashes and growls. She knew that there should have been a hierarchy and rules to be set and followed, but that was in a conservative Pack, and they were far from traditional. 

They were more "first in, first served, you miss, oh well."

"Alright, which one of you little shits ate all of the veggie pizza?" Lydia snaps, glaring.

Three hands slowly rise, one of them belonging to her. Scott and Isaac duck their heads at the venomous look, but she doesn't so much as bat an eyelash. She more or less grins at her, mouth falling open to show her the half chewed pizza slice. The red head's glare doesn't affect her in the slightest anymore. 

Still makes her a little hot and bothered, but Stiles thinks that's always going to happen when Lydia glares at her. 

She slides over a box containing the meat lovers', "Just eat it, we all know you want it."

Still glaring, Lydia viciously bites into a slice, mouth softening around the edges with a hum of approval. 

Isaac rolls his eyes when she smirks over at him. "Hurry up everyone," he says, packing away three empty boxes. "It's my turn to choose the movie."

A persistent nudge to her ribs has the smile disappearing from her face, heart stumbling in her chest. She glances at Peter while ignoring the wolves' perked ears, watches as he tilts his head to the table. 

Stiles was hoping that he'd forget what she told him the night before on the phone; that she was going to nut up and tell everyone that she was pregnant. She should have known that she'd back out and or he'd remember. It was just her luck that both of those things would happen after she had pumped herself up. 

"So, ah, guys. I have an announcement to make, if you can give me a minute."

She sees Scott tense from the corner of her eye, gaze darting over to Derek before connecting with hers. Despite the hunch of his shoulders, Stiles calms down a little at the nod and gentle squeeze to her hand and thigh she receives from him and Peter. 

Her pulse soothes over at the thought of her best friend and the older werewolf, a constant pressure by side. Ever since Jungle and telling Scott what had happened the next night, they've been circling, making sure that nothing else happens, distracting her with other things besides Derek. 

Stiles would be pissed if it was any other situation, but she's glad. She's not sure if she can trust herself again right now. 

"What's going on?" Allison asks, wiping her fingers on a napkin and glancing at her, head tilted to the side in a puppy like fashion. 

"Yeah, Stiles." Derek grits out, eyes narrowed and daring her to say something. "What's going on?"

Hah, if he thinks he can glare her into submission after all the times it's failed before, he's got another thing coming. 

With that thought in mind, she strengthens her resolve. "Some months back, Derek and I -" she starts. 

"I can't believe you!" The Alpha snaps, standing up with a growl. "That you'd do this in front of the Pack! We agreed not to say anything."

"You left me no choice!" She argues, frustrated. 

And it's the truth. He's screened her calls, ignored her text messages asking to talk and refused to acknowledge her existence in person. It's taking all of her not to be a fucking dick and writing what she wants to tell him, on the blackboard in the corner of his lounge room in big white letters, partnered with a detailed diagram of a woman's womb when pregnant.

To say that it was all just him though, would have been a lie and unfair to Derek. She's done her fair share of ignoring too. Lydia's birthday had been one week ago, her mind rattled and chest aching with what had happened in Jungle, she's just not sure _why_. 

Logically, she knows there's anger there, at herself more than anything or anyone else, because she should have been stronger, should have pushed the Alpha away, shouldn't have given in to her body. But then there's this feeling, this burning and heavy sensation resting in her stomach, that she can't really identify. 

It feels like fear, but more intense. Like compete and utter terror for what's going to happen when Derek finds out. Maybe it's also got something to do with the fact that she's starting to show - only a little but noticeable to her, - that not only Derek will know, but _everyone_ in Beacon Hills as well. She sort of wants to wait until all her problems go away. 

But she can't keep this a secret anymore, no matter how terrified she is. If Stiles holds out any longer, he's gonna realise something's up, and though she wants to punish him by letting him find out that way, she won't. She's not a complete asshole. 

Scott stands too with a glare, body angled to shield her protectively. 

"I think you should listen to what she has to say, nephew." Peter suggests gently, though even his body belies his voice. 

He's got one hand clenched on the table, the other placed on the back of her chair, his knuckles splayed out between the wings of her shoulder blades. She knows what he'd do if Derek were to attack, knows that if his nephew so much as twitches in her direction, he'd pull the chair and her away from the table to behind Scott _and_ him. 

Derek would never intentionally hurt her, but the fact that Derek's own uncle would protect her from him, it brings her comfort and a heavy sense of guilt. 

"So what, you go to my uncle to get to me? I thought you were better than this." He mocks, turning to stalk away from the dining table. 

"And I thought you'd be better than to act like the selfish prick you were, when you first stepped back into Beacon Hills." She shouts, not bothering to move from behind Scott. He wouldn't let her no matter how hard she tried. "Stop being ignorant, remove your head from your ass and just _listen_ to me!"

The only reply she gets is the metal door to the loft slamming shut. 

"Well, that could have gone better." Peter says, turning to face her and grimacing. 

"Why don't you explain what _that_ was." Lydia speaks, gaze narrowed. "I told you, I don't want to be left out of the loop again. What did you and Derek do?"

"Each other." Stiles says simply, ignoring Scott's whine of protest as he sits back down. She pats him on the cheek gently. "I'm pregnant and this is the third time he's refused to let me tell him."

Silence takes over the table, mouths dropped and eyes wide in surprise. 

"You're pregnant," Cora repeats, slowly. "With Derek's child?"

She nods, swallowing at the blank look playing on her face. "Yes."

Her and Isaac's eyes flash gold, before they're moving around the table to crowd into her space, Cora pulling her up to her feet. 

"When did this happen?" Allison exclaimed, hands flailing about in what is actually a familiar way. Hah, she's rubbing off on the Huntress.

"Like I said, some months back." She explained, trying to shove them away. "After the Alpha Pack."

"You don't smell pregnant," the curly haired werewolf murmurs, face buried in the curve of her throat. 

"I made something, to mask the scent." Stiles admits, looking at Peter with confusion when Cora pulls up her shirt to nose at her stomach. The older werewolf just smiles and continues eating. Asshole. "I didn't want anyone to know before Derek since he's the father. Guess it doesn't really matter now, does it?"

There's a throat cleared and everyone turns to face Lydia, hand held out before her and a hip cocked out to the side. "Pay up."

More silence.

"Fuck," the Huntress groaned after a few seconds, grabbing for her wallet and handing over a fifty. "I forgot."

"Excuse me?" She asks, eyes widening. "What's this?"

The red head ignores her in favour of raising an eyebrow at all the werewolves except Scott. 

"We made a bet about you and Derek. Cora and Isaac thought it was platonic between the two of you, Ally said something will happen after you graduate, Peter placed money on it happening after the next near death encounter and I said you were already fucking. Wish I thought about you getting pregnant though, would have doubled the pool."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She growls out, feeling hurt. "This is my life and you're _betting_ on it?"

"We didn't think it would end like this, it was just harmless fun for the people that had to smell your sexual frustrations." Peter sighs, winces at Stiles' glare and pulls out a fifty too. "I should learn not to go against you, Ms. Martin."

"Yes," Lydia coos sweetly, as Cora and Isaac follow suit, grumbling all the way. "You shouldn't."

She whirls around on Scott. "Did you know about this?"

He shakes his head, looking green around the edges despite being a werewolf. "Stiles, I love you and you can talk to me just about anything without me screwing my nose up, you know that. But there are some things I _won't_ talk about. One of them being never mentioning when you're on your period and the '03 debacle with the -- the thing." He babbled, both their cheeks heating up, when slightly grazing the subject of him finding her vibrator and accidentally showing her father. "Your apparently upgraded sex life has now been added to said things."

Stiles somewhat satisfied, leans down and nuzzles at his cheek in comfort, wordlessly apologising to him and smiling, when he rumbles in return. 

She glares at everyone else though, delighting in the way everyone, including Lydia, winces and apologises for being insensitive dicks. 

"So, when's the baby shower?" Isaac beams, before hunching his shoulders slightly from Peter's flat look.

"Why would we have a baby shower when Derek doesn't even know yet?" The older werewolf reminded. 

"Fuck the baby shower," Allison grinned, looking madly gleeful. She turns to face Scott and Stiles. "What's the '03 debacle?"

~

Letting out a sigh as she drives back home, Stiles rests her hand just over her naval, and frowns hard at the traffic lights like they've personally offended her. "Your father's being difficult, bun. But I guess that's my fault for falling into bed with him, huh?" 

Stiles let's out a bitter laugh, begins driving again when the lights turn green. She doesn't know what she's going to do, but knows it's not going to be a cakewalk when she does.

She can't keep hiding behind the stuff Deston had given her, because time was running out on how much she could keep hidden. Added to that was the Slater Pack who were coming in two days, three at the most, and she was scared out of her mind. 

What if they really were the traditionalists Derek had warned them about? What if one thought to attack her? She'd fight, of course she would, it was just the idea of stray claws or teeth coming within her space, and doing damage that was permanent as it was deadly, sent her mind into overdrive. 

They'd have to get through her Pack first, Stiles already seeing the shift from calm, cool and collected to downright obsessive in the wolves. If that didn't tip off Derek, then he was just as clueless as he was emotionally stunted. 

She sighed again, rubbing her fingertips over her stomach soothingly. Whether for her or the baby, she isn't sure. 

Stiles is unsure about a lot things. Why Derek was pacing in front of her house being one of them. 

Swallowing the sudden lump that appeared in her throat, Stiles slipped out of the Jeep and made her way up the porch steps, silently glad that her father was on night shifts. 

She's silent as she unlocks the front door, doesn bother in inviting Derek in, just leaves the door wide open to follow in behind her. 

"What do you think you're doing?" He snaps, marching into the kitchen, eyes narrowed.

"Getting a drink." Stiles answers, raising her eyebrows and the bottle of juice in her hand.

"Don't be a smartass." Derek growls. "Telling the Pack about us? Really, Stiles? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I'm pregnant." She says flatly, glowering. "And guess who the father is?"

There's complete silence between them, Derek's eyebrows doing a complicated dance across his face before settling on disbelief.

"You're really doing this?" He murmurs, leaning against the counter, palms flat against the surface as he glares again. "You're gonna play the pregnancy card?"

Something inside her snaps, hot white anger rushing through her veins. "I'm not _playing anything_ , you dickbag! Im pregnant and you're the one that made me this way!"

"Why can't I scent it then?" He argued. 

"I went to Deaton, asked him for something that could hide the scent."

Derek gives her a look. "And you expect me to believe that?"

"I expect you to listen to my heartbeat and tell me I'm lying." Stiles snarls, hands coming up and tuggin at her hair in frustration. "I'm. Pregnant. And. It's. Yours."

"Stiles, I taught you and the rest of the Pack how to lie to werewolves." 

"Holy _fuck_ , you're an idiot!" Fed up, she throws the juice bottle at Derek, taking pleasure in watching him duck from the projectile and then looking at her with wide eyes. "Get the fuck out!"

She watches him leave the kitchen silently, listens to his footsteps before the front door is opened and then closed. 

Her body sags, shoulders slumping and arms hanging limply by her sides. She walks over to the juice bottle, happy that it didn't burst because she wasn't in the mood to clean or think. Or do anything really. 

Stiles is on autopilot as she walks around the house, making sure everything is locked up before heading up the stairs and into her bedroom. She's not going to bath in that potion crap tonight, all she wants to do is slip under her blankets, curl up and wish for another life that wasn't this one. 

_Your nephew is a gigantic asshole._ She texts Peter when she's half asleep. _Thinks I'm lying about the pregnancy so I can keep him around._

 _You'll prove him wrong when you're the size of a bus in seven months._ Peter replies two minutes later. 

_I guess being an asshole is generic._ She types out, glaring at her screen. Though, that does make her feel better imagining what Derek will look like when that time comes. 

Like he knows what she's thinking, all Peter texts back is a smiley face.

**Author's Note:**

> [Let's be friends](http://the-calvaree.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> Also. Fun fact about me; what Derek does with Laura's pads is what I did as a child. No, really. A six year old me managed to get into my sister's stuff and thought it'd be fun to play doctors and nurses and stuck a pad to my forehead. My family have yet to forget the incident and tend to bring it up when reminiscing.


End file.
